Far From Broken
by glambertcello
Summary: An accident leaves Natasha with a broken leg and a broken spirit. But, she finds that good things come out of the grimmest of situations.
1. Waking Up In Hell

**[Yay, first author's note ever! :)**

**So, since this is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from what I like to do, I think you guys need an author's note.**

**Obviously, this is Avengers, but not what I normally write. First off, it's actually going to have chapters. And, it's about Natasha. All the other characters should be involved (or at least mentioned), but this is solely Natasha's story. Now, don't get too upset; there's still going to be Science Boyfriends in this. :) They're just not the focus in this story.**

**I hope you guys like it. No idea how long it's going to be. It's my goal to finish this; so far, I've worked on it on and off all week, and am on the fourth chapter, so I'm hoping that's a good sign that it'll ACTUALLY GET FINISHED. *crosses fingers***

**Don't expect normal updates; musical is going on right now (yay The King and I!) so I'm crazy busy. If not by Thanksgiving, I'll hopefully finish by then.**

**I don't own the Avengers! :( If I did, Tony and Bruce would be making out the entire time.**

**P.S. Not going to say anything else in the other chapters. Author notes are fun to read, but I don't like doing them on mine.**

**Enjoy!]**

Pain.

That was the first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness. Pain, beginning in my foot and ankle, surging its way up my leg. It spread from my pounding head through my body, random areas aching more than others.

What happened to me?

Slowly, so not to cause any sudden shock to my eyes, I slid open my eyelids, discovering I was in a hospital room. Taking in the sterile scent in the air, the beeping of the heart monitor next to me, and the bright white walls, I wondered whether I was at a normal hospital, or at one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s. Probably the latter, since Fury would want to oversee the recovery of one of his top spies.

Oh god, I wondered what kind of mood Fury would be in, seeing me hospitalized.

"Hey, you're up," a voice said to my right.

Tilting my head slowly—and only enough to be able to see him out of the corner of my eyes, because my neck was in serious pain—I saw that it was Clint next to me, leaned forward in his seat to watch me earnestly. His face looked exhausted, drawn tight with stress and concern.

I sincerely hoped he hadn't been here since the moment I got admitted.

"How long have I been out?" I croaked, my voice weak from disuse. Probably a _long_ time, based solely on just that.

Clint wasn't the type to hesitate with me. Never had been. The majority of the time, we told each other _exactly_ what we were thinking. He was the only person I would let past my protective shield, and I was the same for him. We only trusted each other, not even our other team members. So when he said, "You've been unconscious for two days," there wasn't even a falter in his voice. This was just a normal conversation, one that just happened to be occurring in a hospital while one of us had an IV drip in our arm.

Nodding—two days was less than I had guessed, but it still was quite a while—I noticed why my foot was so painful. It was wrapped in a cast, suspended above the rest of my body. What had I done to it?

Making a grunting noise, I shifted my weight—discovering that my neck hurt because of the awkward angle I had been sleeping in, and not because of an actual injury—I hoarsely inquired, "What happened, Clint? I don't remember anything."

He sighed, but launched into the story anyways. "Nat, remember how we were trying to find Ping Bai, the assassin?" I nodded, that part of my questions filled in. "Well, Fury sent all of the Avengers in to try and defeat him and his accomplices. When we got there, they were waiting for us, and began attacking. It wasn't that difficult to defeat them—the Hulk got most of them easily—but Ping Bai decided to set off a bomb. And… well, part of the roof fell on top of you before you could get out. According to Banner, it broke your leg and gave you a concussion as well as other bruises."

I nodded, my mind now refreshed of all its information. Wincing as the throbbing began again from suddenly moving my head, I leaned my head back into the pillow, wanting desperately for the pain to stop.

I had no idea why I felt so weak; it wasn't like I hadn't been injured before.

Sliding from his chair to stand to his feet, he softly told me, "You look like you need some sleep. I'll leave you alone." But, even as he said that, I could see that his eyes were saying the opposite, begging me to tell him to stay.

But, even though I wanted him to, wanted him to stay so desperately, I didn't want him to see me like this. He was used to me always being tough, with only rare, brief moments of despair. Not this, not so broken, with my body destroyed from a building. The thought of him staying made me feel sick, so I nodded my head, watching with tears in my eyes as he exited the room, hesitant for the first time that I've known him.

Deciding that maybe he was right—maybe sleep would regain my composure—I closed my eyes, preparing to fall back into darkness, into rest.

But not before a tear slipped out.


	2. My Promise Broken

"How are you feeling, Natasha?" Bruce leaned over me, using various medical tools to test my vitals.

Today was the day that I might finally leave the Stark Tower Infirmary. In order to make sure I was okay to heal back in my room, Bruce was running some tests.

At first, I had been really confused as to why it was _Bruce_ working on me. It wasn't because I didn't trust his skill; in fact, I felt _safer_ with him, because we knew each other well. I mean, his alter ego tried to kill me once. That was a big enough experience to build some sort of relationship with the doctor. However, I had expected for it to be one of the doctors that Fury had hired.

But, once I began asking Bruce, he told me that it had been Tony's doing.

"He's still very pissed off at Fury about Phase Two, and doesn't trust him at all, so he basically informed Fury _I_ would be the one caring for you. It led to several screaming matches, but Fury finally gave his consent."

Of course it would be Tony. Tony was always the one screwing with the system.

Blinking as he shone a pen-light into my eye, I responded, "Fine."

"I know you're not going to like this," he said, shutting the light off and moving back, as if bracing for when I was going to punch him, "but you won't be able to move for a week. And when you are allowed to get up, you'll have to use crutches for a while."

Just great. Crutches meant I wouldn't be allowed to do any missions, and for a _long_ time. Closing my eyes, I dreaded the retraining I was going to have to undergo. My ability required strenuous training, and I wasn't going to have any of it for several months. He might as well have told me I had twenty-four hours to live; that would've been preferable to this hell I was about to experience.

Those words ripped out everything that ever was important to me, leaving behind the empty shell of Natasha Romanoff.

Once he concluded I was healed enough to not need constant supervision, Bruce slowly helped inch me into a wheelchair. "This is only for taking you to your room," he informed me, as if to reassure me that I wasn't going to have to try and maneuver one of these.

It was a nice attempt, but it healed none of my brokenness.

The five minutes it took to get from the Stark Towers Infirmary to my room was the longest five minutes of my life. As Bruce wheeled me down the halls, I felt every single passing person stare at me. They all were in shock, staring at the shattered remains of the Black Widow, the toughest assassin in S.H.I.E.L.D. and quite possibly the world. They didn't see her in me anymore.

Instead, all they saw was a beaten up Natasha Romanoff. A woman, broken by a building.

I knew everyone would be talking about that wheelchair ride for days.

When we got onto the floor where all of the Avengers stayed, I quit looking at my lap, where my eyes had been fixed up until now. The front room, the hallways, the kitchen… I never thought I would feel so _relieved_ to see them again.

"We already set up your bed," Bruce told me as he wheeled me down the hallway, toward my room. "You should be thankful Tony installed beds that can elevate themselves; otherwise, we would've had to replace your bed."

I would have to remember to thank Tony later, if I ever got the courage to ignore my pride. The thought of having to sleep in a bed that wasn't mine would've set me over the edge.

But, as it turned out, I would go over the edge anyways. As Bruce lifted me awkwardly onto the bed, he asked, "Do you have any dresses? You might not want to wear pants for a while."

Yes, I did have several dresses, most of which I used when I went undercover. Luckily, that wasn't including my fancy ones. No, the humiliating part was when Bruce had to help me _into_ the dress, since I couldn't even do it myself.

As he zipped up the back of the sundress he had managed to locate, he instructed, "Go ahead and lie down, Natasha. I'll go get you some food."

The pity in his voice broke my composure, the dam I had created bursting as tears began to flow. They were angry, bitter tears, ones that cursed the world, or fate, or God, or karma, or whatever there was, as they were shed. Wrapping my arms around myself and shivering in the cold room, I began sobbing, completely at loss what to do.

I didn't want to cry. I had promised myself as a child that I would not cry unless it was for acting purposes. These… these were real tears. And, worst of all, I was crying in front of Bruce.

I did _not_ want to be crying in front of him.

But yet, I couldn't help but feel grateful when he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Natasha," and then joined me on the bed, wrapping me into his arms. Breathing in his scent, grateful that I had something to hold onto that wasn't myself or my pillow, but another person, I sobbed into his shoulder, letting all of my emotions go. He ran his fingers soothingly through my hair and used his other hand to rub my back, holding me close like I wanted him to.

Promising myself this would be the last time I would cry, I sobbed until I couldn't anymore.


	3. To Beat Tony At Something He Does Best

My eyes had long since quit interpreting what was happening on the TV.

I had been confined to my room for two days already, and grew sick of television after the first hour. Never having been much for watching something for no purpose, I fell asleep immediately after, not waking until Clint carried in my breakfast the next morning.

But, after that breakfast, I had grown bored, and entered the never-ending cycle of napping and TV-watching. I had also nearly thrown up the smiley-face pancakes—Steve's attempt at cheering me up, most likely, since Clint said he was the one who made them—so my stomach had very little food in it at the moment.

Throwing up would be another sign of weakness, one that I didn't want to show.

As I glowered blankly at the screen—which depicted some crime show that verged on predictable—I heard the door open. Assuming it was Clint, with food I would pretend to eat but then scrap, I said weakly, "Hey."

"How are you, Natasha?" It wasn't Clint after all; instead, Pepper Potts stood in the doorframe, holding a tray with a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on it. Stepping into the room, she handed me the food, giving me a tight smile. Her face seeped with sympathy, which made me want her to leave, and _now_.

"Fine," I replied shortly, turning back to the TV. Whatever show was on was way better than listening to sympathy speech again. I'd already gotten it from too many people to count.

Standing awkwardly for a moment, she finally asked, "Do you want some movies? I'd be glad to put something on for you. Or, I could ask JARVIS to connect Netflix to this TV. Would you want that?"

Netflix sounded like it would be worse; way more options, and way longer programs to commit to. So, I shook my head at her, continuing to watch the TV. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," she pointed out, coming to sit on the corner of the bed. "Honey, you've eaten less these last couple of days than Tony. If you beat Tony, then that's saying something. Natasha, can you look at me?" Her voice was so hurt, I couldn't resist. Not when she had done nothing wrong.

I was just too afraid of breaking down again.

My lip was trembling as I turned to stare at her face, but that was the only sign of emotion I let slip through. The rest of me was cold, aloof. I was forcing myself to behave like the Black Widow again, to embody her and not let Natasha Romanoff, the weakened woman, slip through.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she seemed to consider saying something to me, something deep with great impact. But, she must've realized how much of a waste it was. So, instead, she said softly, "Just make sure you eat the food."

I nodded; this time, I would actually eat it. I didn't want to cause her any more grief. She already looked like she was going to cry any second.

Just to reassure her, I lifted the grilled cheese to my mouth, and took a bite. A small smile formed on her face, and she got up, satisfied. "Thank you," she said, beginning to leave. But, just as she reached the doorframe, she turned around and informed me, "Clint is on a mission, and will be gone for a couple of days. And I've got to take care of some Stark Industries stuff. Hope you don't mind Steve or Bruce caring for you."

"Don't mind at all," I said, my heart sinking. Masking it with a grin, all I could think as she left was, _He left without me_.


	4. Remember the Phoenix

_Knock knock knock_.

I glanced up from the blank TV, turning my attention toward the door as it slid open, revealing it was Captain America's turn to Natasha-sit. "Hello, Natasha," he said, stepping in slowly. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

Shaking my head—a little at awe that I wasn't feeling as irritated with Steve as I had been with everyone else so far—I told him, "No, I was awake."

"Good," he said, approaching my bed. That's when I noticed he didn't have any food.

Once he was next to me, he gave me a smile. "Are you sick of being here?" he asked, but in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

"You bet," I said, glad that someone was _finally_ suggesting somewhere else other than my room. The first day, it had been comforting; by now, all I wanted to do was go somewhere other than here and the bathroom—which I had to be carried to, much to my humiliation—even if it was as dull as the kitchen.

"I hope you don't mind," he began, making my heart start to sink as I anticipated what he might say, "I was thinking about making us lunch and then eating on the balcony. Would you like that?" Even though I would deny it if anyone asked, the idea of it made me perk up; I couldn't even resist bobbing my head enthusiastically.

The outside; I could finally breathe in fresh—okay, maybe not so fresh—air and enjoy the outside.

His lips split into a smile at my enthusiasm. "Good," he said. "I'll just grab a jacket for you, and then I'll carry you out."

_Oh god…_ I could feel myself begin to shrink down again at the thought of having to be carried again. It wasn't like I thought it was an unnecessary thing; I mean, I couldn't _walk_. But, still. To be carried is humiliating, and my inability to rely on myself—and _only_ myself—was dangerously harming my ego.

Steve could see the discomfort on my face, and he scowled. Coming even closer to me, he squatted down to achieve a level lower than myself. "Natasha," he said, his voice soft and soothing. It was the kind of voice one would use on a lost child, who was hysterical from his or her inability to find the parent. Warm, and tender, and fear-melting. He reached over and took my hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. "I know how difficult it is for you to ask for help. But, sometimes, you need to."

It took a few more moments of thought before I nodded. Even though I hated to admit it, he was right. Because Steve was Steve; unless it was about anything that happened after the forties, he was practically all-knowing. That super-soldier serum must've granted him fifty years of knowledge or something.

Instead of grabbing me a jacket first, he released my hand from his light touch and looped one arm under my legs. His other arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I lifted my arms to twine them around his neck, holding tightly as he scooped me from the mattress. "Here we go," he said, lifting me as if I was a small animal, and not a fully-grown adult who has more muscle mass than the average female. My instinct was to curl myself into him, which was humiliating enough. So, instead, I tried to keep my head at a distance from his shoulder, and let him carry me.

The entrance to the balcony was in the living room, through some sliding doors. "Open up, JARVIS," he said. "And leave them accessible so I don't have to keep asking you when I'm dealing with food."

_Yes, Captain,_ JARVIS responded as the doors slid fully open. Raising my eyebrow, I wondered if that was the first time JARVIS ever called someone 'Captain.' Probably the first, and the last.

Steve carried me to the table and chairs Pepper had chosen when designing the exterior, setting me in one and propping my leg up on the chair next to it. "I'll bring you that jacket," he said, quickly leaving me alone in the space. Quite honestly, it felt… satisfying.

It wasn't until I was sitting out here, shivering in my light sundress that Bruce had helped me put on yesterday after he assisted me in bathing, that I realized how much I had missed being outside. The smell of exhaust fumes, the steady breeze that forced me to curl in on myself, the city traffic below. All of it, I had missed. A sign that the world continued moving on, no matter how bad things got.

I hadn't even finished pondering that thought when Steve barreled out, one of his sports jackets on his arm. "Sorry, I couldn't find any of yours," he apologized, handing it to me.

Pulling my arms into the sleeves as fast as I could—it had gotten even chillier over the minutes that I had sat out here—I told him, "No, Steve, it's perfect. Actually," I added, when I paid attention to the material on my arms, "it's considerably warmer than anything I own jacket-wise. Thank you."

"Okay, good!" he said, sounding relieved. "You can keep it if you want."

"No, no thank you, I'm good." I certainly didn't want to be the one to claim his jacket permanently. I mean, it was so _warm_; wouldn't _he_ like a warm jacket?

"Well, I've got another one that is exactly the same," he said, practically reading my mind. "Seriously, take it."

Not entirely sure how to respond, I just wrapped my arms around my torso, hoping that was an answer that would satisfy him. Apparently, it was.

"I will be back in a little while, Natasha," he said, beginning to take strides toward the door. "I'm going to go prepare the food." Just as the doors slid open, he paused, turning around to look at me, his face concerned. Hesitantly, as if he would make me shy back like a cornered animal, he asked, "Will you be okay out here by yourself?" It was as if he was afraid I would do something to myself if I was alone.

Giving him the best smile I could make—which was a poor attempt, if you ask me, but it was the best I could do—I informed him, "I've been alone this whole time; at least now, I can be outside."

He nodded, his face suggesting that he didn't quite believe that I would be okay. But, he didn't argue. Instead, he entered the door, leaving me by myself.

I hadn't lied when I said I would be fine. Part of the reason I despised being in my room was because of the solitude. There wasn't anyone around me, except for an occasional visit from Clint or Bruce. But, both of those visits had been to take care of me, not to carry on a conversation. It was as if everyone was busy; _too_ busy for me.

But here, sitting out in the open, I _wasn't_ alone. Not really; not with so many people wandering the city streets, with the people in the towers next to Tony's. There were people all around; people with their individual lives, people who had their places to go, people who had jobs and were in relationships with other people. None of them knew of my existence, but oddly, I was content with that. It was just the way life went. Lives intersected, and nobody stopped long enough to acknowledge it.

I watched the city from above, completely understanding why Clint was so _in love_ with high places. I could see everything.

That's what I was doing when Steve finally brought the food; I was watching everyone, and wondering what each and every person's life was like. Was it much better than mine? Or did my sorry state pale in comparison to theirs?

"Hey," Steve said, approaching me with two plates full of spaghetti. "I hope you like pasta."

Even though it wasn't my favorite in the whole entire world, the thought of it actually sounded really good, and my stomach whined at the fact that the food wasn't already in my mouth. That made Steve laugh as he set one of the plates down in front of me. "Sounds like you do," he mused, smirking as he sat down across from me.

"Thank you," I told him, trying my best to sound sincere, but my voice couldn't really do anything except flat and even more flat. Oh well; he would figure out what I meant.

For the first couple of minutes, there was only the sound of traffic and us eating. It was a combination of peaceful and awkward. Finally tired of the silence—I had been silent much too long for my taste—I asked, "Where's Bruce today? Is he out or something?" Normally, Bruce came in to check on me in the early morning, which he didn't do this time.

Shrugging, Steve said, "He said something about Tony finishing a new Iron Man model and wanting to show it off." He sounded like he had as much interest in Tony's shenanigans as I did.

"Of course," I said; they were _always_ in the lab.

But, unfortunately, I should've tried to continue to another point, because we sank back into silence.

It was another couple minutes before he noticed that I had withdrawn my unbroken foot into my skirt because it was getting cold. "Sorry," he said, "I should've thought to grab you a sock."

"No, it's fine." I said.

Silence. _Again_.

Neither of us said another word until he had finished his spaghetti, and I was almost done with mine. It was him, but this time, it wasn't just small talk. "Natasha," he started, his tone sounding as if he was about to enter a touchy subject.

"Yeah?" I asked, now wary.

He took a deep breath, biting his lip as if pondering how he should word his thoughts. Finally, he said, "You know your life isn't ruined because of a broken leg, right?"

I didn't mean to bristle, to become so tense at his question. But, I couldn't help myself. Because, quite honestly, I'd been struggling with that the whole time I was locked into my room. Without the ability to fight… I was helpless, without purpose. My whole life had been devoted to S.H.I.E.L.D., and I had to watch helplessly on the sidelines as the others took over my job. Of course it felt like my life was over.

Still talking, staring at me and refusing to be the one to break eye contact, he said, "You're still strong, Natasha. Yes, this is a setback, but you've still got time to make up for this."

"How can I?" slips out, surprising me. "How can I when I'm so _broken_, Steve? Broken things are _useless_, a _waste_." The words… they're everything I've been feeling, all of my frustration and depression and exhaustion seeping into the words. It's my nightmare; that I've been broken and can't be repaired.

He looks at me, completely in awe that I finally _said _it. I'll bet none of them thought I could finally voice it; actually, I didn't think I could either. But, now it sat in the air, heavy and uncomfortable and depressing.

"Natasha," he said, his voice quiet and dry, which he had to clear to be able to talk louder. "You are not broken. You are _far_ from broken, in fact. You're the strongest person I've ever met, and that means you even beat out Thor and the Hulk. You just can't see it. But, you'll realize it one day." He's on his feet now, reaching into his pocket and handing me my phone. "I found this in your room. Call me when you're ready to come back in. I think you need some time by yourself, to mull over some things."

I took the mobile device into my hand, running my fingertips over the familiar curve of the edges and smoothness of the screen. As I was still tracing its outline, he began to leave, heading toward the doors. But, just as he reached them, he paused, turning around to face me.

"Just… remember the phoenix."

And then, he was gone.


	5. Pizza and Monty Python

"_We are the knights that say 'Ni!'_"

"I am _so _confused," Steve announced, staring at the screen as if they were speaking in another language.

I couldn't help but smirk at the lost expression on his face; he still didn't understand today's humor at all. He couldn't even appreciate the ridiculousness of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail,_ because he was too busy trying to figure out why everything was so random.

"It's _Monty Python,_ it's _supposed_ to be confusing," I informed him, wincing at the pain shooting through my leg. "They were comedians on a low budget, so this is what they created. Although you might not believe it, it's actually a classic."

He looked at me, as if my leg—which had begun hurting severely while I was outside, probably on account that Bruce didn't give me medicine this morning—was making me delusional. "Are you serious, Nat?"

"Deadly serious," I confirmed, nodding my head as he turned back to the television, staring at it as if he was trying to decipher what was so _great_ about it.

A door opened behind us, and I heard someone loudly say, "You didn't dare inform me about watching _Monty Python?!_" Tony strode into the room, coming to plop onto a couch next to where Steve and I sat, my leg propped up as high as possible. Sprawling his whole body across it, he said, "JARVIS, you're to tell me if anyone starts watching any of my favorite movies. Got that?"

_Yes, sir_, the AI responded in his cool, British voice.

"Where's Bruce?" I asked, really wanting my medicine. Whatever it was they had been doing, it was enough to make the doctor _entirely_ forget about his duties.

Shrugging nonchalantly, already absorbed into the movie, he responded, "Dummy made a mess with the fire extinguisher again, so he's supervising the robots while they clean up."

"And why aren't _you_ doing that?" Steve asked, snapping his eyes away from the movie.

"Because I didn't want to," Tony replied, sounding irritated. It'd been many months since they had met, but the soldier and genius still clashed around each other quite often. It was one of those guy ego things, I guess.

They didn't talk anymore, instead choosing to watch the movie. In fact, the only words said up until Bruce arrived came out of the TV. But, once he walked into the room, Tony perked up. "Hey there big guy!" he said, leaping to his feet and—it was really strange to think of it this way, but it was really the only way I could describe it—bounced to the doctor's side.

Bruce grinned at his fellow scientist, saying, "Hey, Tony! Just so you know, Dummy started short-circuiting halfway through cleanup. JARVIS had to shut him down, and the other robots are working on repairing him now."

Rolling his eyes, Tony exclaimed, "Dammit! I _knew_ there was something wrong with him. I'll have to give him a stern talking-to about what he does whenever I don't have jobs for him to do."

The doctor laughed, making me wonder if Tony was joking or serious. With Tony, you could never tell; everything and anything was sarcasm.

It was then that Bruce noticed me on the couch. "Oh, hey, Natasha. How are you…" He froze, realizing the mistake he had made with the medicine. "Oh crap."

"It's fine," I tried convincing him, but winced when I shifted my body. I really _was_ in pain, and it wasn't just my foot. I had plenty of gashes and bruises all over my body, so pretty much _everything_ hurt. "It just, uhh… hurts a little bi-" I accidentally cut myself off as I hissed at the shooting pain that went up my leg, all because I turned it slightly. "_Dammit!_"

He was already out of the room, running to grab the medicine for me. It wasn't even more than a couple of seconds when he returned with the meds, which he quickly administered. "I'm _so_ sorry," he apologized, looking extremely worried about me. "Tony distracted me and I completely forgot."

"It's fine," I breathed out through clenched teeth, hoping the medication would kick in rather quickly. "You're fine."

I could tell he still didn't believe me, but it at least got him to quit apologizing. If Tony distracted him, that was a perfectly legitimate reason to forget.

From behind me, I heard the playboy announce, "I'm hungry. Brucey, can we get pizza tonight?"

_Brucey?_ Since when did _anyone_ call Bruce 'Brucey'?

The doctor turned his eyes towards the playboy, a hint of affection glinting in them, before turning to look back at Steve and me. "Have you guys eaten dinner yet?" he inquired.

"We haven't eaten anything since around noon," Steve informed him, standing to his feet. His eyes traveled to meet with mine, and he asked, "Does pizza sound good to you, Nat?"

Even though we'd had pasta for lunch, I was starving, and anything with sauce and cheese sounded absolutely delicious to me at the moment. It must be a leg thing, because it was much more likely for me to crave vegetables than anything greasy. But, the thought of greasy pizza made me nod eagerly; I hadn't had it for a while.

Half an hour later, I was settled into the couch with a plate of meat-lovers pizza and doughy breadsticks on my lap, with the boys surrounding me. Tony had put on _The Princess Bride_ for Steve to watch, but none of us except the soldier was paying attention to it. Instead, Tony and Bruce were having a lively conversation in between slices, and I was watching them as they sat suspiciously close to each other, their arms brushing against each other's as they discussed various things. It made me smile, listening to them bicker like a married couple and laugh like best friends. There was something there, sparking in between them, but I don't think either of them noticed yet.

Would it have been preferable to be on a mission? Absolutely. But was I unhappy in that moment, surrounded by my team members and friends?

Not at all.

For the first time since I had woken up, I would say that I felt… happy.

Yes, happy.


	6. Defenses

Even when I had been asleep, I sensed someone entering my room. It woke me up enough for my mind to register that it was Clint and for my eyes to blink open.

Like a good spy, he could tell from across the room—and without seeing my face, because it was buried into my numerous pillows—that I had woken up. "Good morning, Nat," he said softly, as if he was unsure of how awake I was.

"You're back," I murmured drowsily, trying to force myself awake.

He was by my side when I finally lifted my head from the pillows—only to lay it back down again, but hey, at least I could see him now—coming to sit on the edge of my bed, maintaining distance. "Not for long," he told me softly, reaching over to stroke my hair once. "Fury's having me do double the missions until we can catch Ping Bai and get you back on your feet, so I leave in an hour."

Ping Bai wasn't dead? That caught my attention, making me struggle to sit up higher. "I thought you said he blew up the warehouse."

"That's the thing," he said, staring off in the distance, tension forming in his jaw. "Agent Hill went to search the location and recover his body, but it wasn't there. They did DNA testing on all of the bodies, and none of them matched." His eyes connected with mine, and I knew he could see the panic I was trying to keep from forming in my face. "I wouldn't worry about it, Nat," he said, reaching over to take my hand. "It might take a little while longer, but we'll catch the guy."

"I wasn't worried," I spat immediately, feeling my defenses rise. Taking one look at his hand on mine, I snatched it away, protecting it by wrapping my arms around my torso and tucking my hands into my armpits.

"Oh." He couldn't hide the hurt and confusion at my reaction, but he chose to not acknowledge it. "I didn't mean to-"

"You're fine," I snapped, looking away from him. I didn't want to see that look again. Not now, not ever. It made my chest ache, and my eyes sting. No, I didn't want to see it.

"Cap says you're eating more," he blurted. "That you're actually socializing with people. That's good, Nat."

I couldn't bring myself to respond, not without making my voice quiver. Despite my attempts to avoid it, my eyes were beginning to sting, and—when I blinked them—they got all watery. So, instead, I chose to keep quiet.

It was quiet for a few moments before Clint realized he'd better go. "I'll be back soon, Nat. Keep getting better." I could sense him moving toward me, and felt him place a feathery kiss against my temple. And then, he was gone.

Wrapping myself into a ball, I rested my forehead against my knees, begging myself to not break my promise again.


	7. Interrogating Brucey

Bruce found me curled up, asleep, after barely resisting the urge to cry after Clint left. The slight _tap_ he made against the doorframe woke me up, and he said, "Time for a bath, Natasha."

I nodded sleepily, letting him loop his arms around me and carry me into my own personal bathroom. Once we got in there, he set me on the toilet, and helped me out of Steve's jacket and my sundress. "How are you feeling today, Natasha?" he asked as he undid the straps of my bra.

The first two times he had helped me take a bath, I'd been a blushing, embarrassed mess. To have him hold me while I cried, and _then_ to have him see me naked, that was too much. But, after several days of this torture, I accepted there was nothing to be embarrassed _about_. I mean, he's a _doctor_; he's trained to be professional around bare bodies. That's why I was totally okay with him taking off my bra and my underwear before helping get me in the bathtub.

Feeling wide awake the moment I feel the cool tub against my skin, I tell him, "My leg is tons better, but the medicine's probably the reason why."

"Sorry about yesterday," he apologized, turning the knob on the bathtub. "Tony completely distracted me."

The way he almost immediately brought up Tony made me smirk as I remembered the way they were interacting yesterday. Deciding that perhaps I should bring it up, I asked, "Bruce?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning off the knob as the water was three or four inches away from the top of the tub.

Unable to think of an actually _good_ way to ask my question, I selected the lame option. "Do you like Tony?"

Obviously, he wasn't getting my meaning, based solely on the incredulous look he gave me. "Of course I like Tony," he said, reaching for the soap to hand to me. "He's the only person who trusted me immediately, and didn't even _hesitate_ about liking the Other Guy. It was… a nice change."

Remembering my fear of the Hulk and seeing the look he gave me—probably by accident, because he wasn't the type to look at me suspiciously when I was so vulnerable—I said, "Yeah, sorry about that. But, that's not what I meant."

Now he was raising his eyebrow at me. "What do you mean then?" he asked suspiciously, now starting to catch on.

Since he wasn't as clueless as before, I decided not to go straight for the 'love' word. Instead, I went for the even lamer phrase. "I mean, do you _like_ like him?"

I could see the blush forming before he probably even felt it. He didn't even need to say anything for me to know _exactly_ what he was thinking. But, he certainly tried. "I- I- I don't- what?" He was probably trying to defend himself, and state that they were "just friends". But, he was too far in the opposite direction—without even knowing it, based on his reaction—to even be able to lie about it.

It was almost as if there were gears that were turning behind his eyes, calculating his true feelings about his fellow scientist. He might be trying denial on himself, but it would eventually quit working. I knew it, and I'm sure others did too.

Deciding he didn't need to actually answer anything right now, I added, "You totally don't need to give me the status right this second. Just… consider it." _Because you guys would be totally adorable_, I almost added, but I would really like for my room to not be destroyed by the Hulk.

"Okay," he replied, sounding extremely uncomfortable. In fact, uncomfortable described _everything_ about that moment. The atmosphere, the silence, him. If it wasn't for getting him to realize that he _was_ crushing big time on a certain man who owned a certain iron suit, I would've regretted saying anything. But, now I was almost giddy, which was making him even _more_ uncomfortable.

When he finally opened his mouth, it was to change the subject. "Since _you're_ going to ask embarrassing questions, I might as well ask what happened between you and Clint this morning?"

Much to my surprise, it wasn't even all that uncomfortable of a subject. Maybe it was because it couldn't beat sitting naked in a bathtub in front of one of your coworkers. Shrugging, I informed him, "He was talking to me like I was weak, so he earned himself sharp words and the silent treatment. Nothing more. Why, what'd he tell you?" It's not like we'd been very loud; Clint must've mentioned something to either him or Tony, because god knows Tony tells his "Brucey" everything.

"He just mentioned that you were irritable. I told him it was probably the medication." That was all Bruce said, but I could tell from his tone that he was leaving out quite a bit of the information. Still, I didn't press.

Instead, all I said was, "Nope, it was him, not the medication."

"Oh," was all I got in response to that, before he instructed me to finish bathing. We didn't really talk the rest of the time, instead focusing at the awkward task that was rinsing my hair in a bathtub. Note to self: ask Pepper to get me a showerhead.

He assisted me in getting dressed, pulling on new underwear and a fresh dress. Once I was settled—one sock and all—he carried me back to my bed, putting me under the covers. "Steve will come get you in a couple of hours. Tomorrow, you'll probably be okay to learn how to do crutches. How does that sound?"

Obviously, that was very exciting. Even though things were getting _better_, I couldn't go anywhere without help. The lack of mobility was very confining.

"Sounds great!" I announced, sounding chipper.

"Good," he said, smiling. "Well, I'll see you after Tony and I are done working." He began to turn around, preparing to exit, and then froze, as if he suddenly had a thought. Slowly, he turned back to look at me, hesitating big time. Finally, when he spoke, what came out was, "He really cares about you, Natasha. Give him a chance." And then, he was out the door, leaving me with some thoughts.


	8. Could Be Family

It was pretty uncomfortable, learning how to properly use crutches with an audience. Especially when one of those audience members was Tony Stark.

"Strut your sexy crutches!" he randomly announced as Bruce helped me at least stand. The doctor turned and gave his crush a glare, as did Steve. "What?" Tony asked, looking like he couldn't even figure out what he had done wrong.

"Please," Steve said in his annoyed tone—which only seemed to surface whenever he was around the billionaire—"could you _not_ be inappropriate for once in your life?"

"I'd say the chances of that are… Bruce, would it be a one in a million trillion chances, or am I missing a couple zeros?"

"Stop," Bruce said, trying to get the boys to quit bickering like little kids who couldn't agree on who the best cartoon character is. But, it was pretty hard for anyone to take him seriously after he snorted at Tony's question.

He might try to not pick a side, but he was quite obviously on Tony's.

Turning back to me while they continued arguing, Bruce said, "You know how to use these, right?"

I nodded, hoping desperately I wouldn't fall over. Now _that _would be humiliating. "I've seen people use them before."

Nodding, Bruce said, "Good. Give them a try." I could see him _almost_ add, "I'm right here if you need me," but he must've known the reaction he would've gotten out of that, because he never actually said it. Instead, he tilted his head in my direction, encouraging me to give it a try.

Sucking in a deep breath, I moved the ends of the crutches forward—nearly dropping one in the process—and then did a little bounce to move slightly forward. Instantly, applause came from behind me, specifically from one Tony Stark. Spinning my head around, I gave him a death glare, and he returned it without missing a beat.

Still, even though it had been _extremely_ sarcastic—quite possibly the _definition_ of sarcasm—I appreciated it. At least he wasn't calling me lame.

It took a couple more attempts before I could actually get very far, one time wobbling and almost slipping. But, I wouldn't have fallen; Steve and Bruce were by my side in less than a second, earning themselves an annoyed look at their extreme protectiveness. Honestly, sometimes they acted like mothering hens around me.

But, secretly, I kind of needed it. I would _never_ admit to it, but I needed the support. Well, just so long as they weren't super smothering.

When I finally began panting—this was way more strenuous than I was used to, which was quite honestly pathetic—Bruce announced I was done, telling me to get on the couch. I made it over there, but had to practically throw myself onto the cushions to get onto the seat. Laughing at me, Tony joined me on the couch, Bruce sitting next to him. Steve sat on the other side of me, offering his shoulder up as my own personal pillow. Tony turned on Netflix, picking a corny movie to watch.

As we got absorbed into it—it was some movie version of _Clue_, which Tony claimed to have three different endings—I couldn't help but look at the guys all around me. Oddly enough, they made me feel happy. It was like my own little dysfunctional family.

_We could be a family_, I mused, beginning to nod off against Steve's shoulder. _It might be a long shot, but we could be_.


	9. Broken Spell

"Race you to the strawberries!" Tony practically shouted in my ear, sprinting in the direction of the kitchen.

Honestly, I didn't see the point of why he was sprinting. Hello, I'd only been using crutches for less than a day by now; I still sucked at it. And when I suggested that I had a craving for strawberries, he had decided to turn it into a race. Rolling my eyes, I followed as fast as I could, stumbling slightly on the carpeted floors.

"Tony…" Bruce warned, looking up from the medical book he'd been trying to read. "Don't make her hurt herself."

I rolled my eyes at the doctor, feeling a little annoyed. Thank god Steve was doing S.H.I.E.L.D. things today; he would've joined Bruce's side, and left me _really_ annoyed. Turning back in the direction of the kitchen, I made my way over there, catching sight of Tony shoving a whole strawberry into his mouth.

"You kind of need to take the leafy stuff off," I commented as I entered the doorframe, taking a moment to steady myself.

Instead of taking the strawberry out of his mouth, he bit off the leaves, spitting them out in my direction. "Happy?" he asked, although it didn't sound like that on account of the food in his mouth.

I entered the kitchen further, trying to reach for the plate. Just as it was within inches of my fingertips, the so-called philanthropist snatched it away from me, holding it over his head. "Come and get it!" he taunted, standing on his tippy-toes as I tried reaching it.

I reached as far as I could, waggling my fingers and trying to get distance that way. Didn't exactly work. Hopping slightly, I managed to touch the very bottom of the plate, but it wasn't enough to offset it. "Come on, Tony!" I complained, trying to hop again. Still didn't work. "You're not being fair."

"Who said life is fair?" he countered.

By that point, Bruce was standing in the doorway, giving his fellow scientist a disapproving look. "Tony, please let Natasha have the strawberries." All Tony did was give him a look, and continue to raise it higher.

I moved to the side, trying to see if a different angle would help. No luck. "Come on, wimp!" he taunted, raising it onto his fingertips. "I thought you were the Black Widow!"

Bruce gasped behind me, and I knew why.

Already, I could feel my blood boiling. Hell, I could _hear_ it boiling, pounding in my ears. Grinding my teeth together and setting my jaw, I imagined what he would look like with a mark on his playboy face. Picturing the perfect spot, I did something I _probably_ shouldn't have done.

Doing my best to balance on my crutches, I kicked my foot up in the air, swinging it as hard as I could into Tony's jaw. I missed, instead hitting him in the chest, but it was enough to knock the whole plate of strawberries to the floor. In the process of it, however, my balance got thrown off, flinging me backwards.

I was lucky, I guess; Bruce ran behind me, catching me just as my good heal impacted with the ground. He suspended me enough to keep my broken foot from reaching the ground, holding onto me tight so I didn't slip.

For only a moment, I was stunned into silence. I hadn't ever done _that_ before; then again, I'd never been on _crutches_ before. But, it was only a moment.

Because, the next moment, I was cracking up.

And it wasn't the kind of cracking up that someone says they did, but really they just laughed. No, this was full-blown cracking up. I was crying within a minute, gasping for breath.

It was the first time I had laughed since I'd broken my foot. It was like the thing that kept me so depressed had just decided to release me, and I was free to show happiness if I chose to.

Tony was laughing with me too, clutching his chest in pain. But, Bruce wasn't.

"I'm glad you think this was funny!" he exclaimed in an angry tone, setting me on the ground. "Natasha, you could've been severely _hurt!_"

Tilting my head back to get a better angle—still laughing while I did it, which only made him angrier—I announced, "That was fun! Can I do it again?"

"No, you can't!" He sounded exasperated, like he might pull his brunette curls out at any moment.

"Jesus Christ, Mother!"Tony said, trying to sound teasing to his best friend. But, Bruce didn't exactly take it well. Instead of responding in anger—which he probably would've done if he had stayed there—he stormed off, leaving Tony and I sitting on the kitchen floor.

Not laughing anymore—I hadn't meant to cause problems between them, when things were going so well—I suggested, "Tony, you'd better go talk to him."

"Why?" he asked, looking at me like I was losing my mind.

It wouldn't be that easy to explain it to the supposedly "genius" man, so I just said, "Trust me."

Shrugging, he reached over and grabbed two of the strawberries off the floor. "In just a minute," he told me, placing one on my knee. Holding his out, he tilted it as if he wanted to make a toast. "You did awesome, sister."

"Thanks," I said, smiling again. Playing along, I took the strawberry, knocked it lightly against his, and then ate it.


	10. Just a Pinch of Bliss

They were too far away now; I couldn't eavesdrop that easily, unfortunately. They'd probably taken it to the lab just for that reason.

The doors slid open—making me jump—and in entered Steve. The look on his face suggested confusion, and he looked at me like he had just seen a hippo walk down the hall. "What's going on with Tony and Bruce?" he asked, coming to sit down next to me on the couch.

"Seriously, you could hear them?" I asked, completely amused.

"Yeah, I heard them as the elevator was going past the floor their lab is on. What are they fighting about?"

I shrugged, smirking. "Oh, a lover's quarrel. Tony provoked me into kicking him, and Bruce seems to think that is a bad thing, even though it made me laugh. So they're arguing about that."

Instead of reacting to the fact that I had tried to harm Tony—on crutches, nonetheless—he blinked, asking, "Lover's quarrel?"

Oh. I guess I should explain gay to Mr. Forties. "I know your people frowned upon a man loving a man, and a woman loving a woman, but today it's almost completely okay. I mean, yeah, there are those religious extremes who hate it, but—"

"No no no," Steve said, holding out his hand to cease my unintentional ranting. My heart froze, as did my throat, as my mind entered a frantic panic attack of some sort. _Will he hate them because they are guys in love with each other?_ I instantly worried. _I mean, it's love; how can he hate it? Well, Natasha, because he's from the forties. Oh god dammit, Natasha, you shouldn't have brought it up. Oh crap oh crap oh…_

My thoughts were cut off by the super soldier's next words. "Tony Stark can actually _love_ someone?"

Sputtering, I was so shocked, all I could get out was, "Whaaaa…?"

My facial expression must have been pretty humorous, because he started chuckling. "I mean, other than Pepper, of course. Everybody loves Pepper. But Tony actually being in love with someone other than her? And Bruce, falling for someone as destructive as _Tony?!_ Why, it's almost unthinkable—"

"Wait wait wait!" It was my turn to cut off his voice, to speak my words. "So you're totally okay that they're, you know…" I now felt awkward, saying those words. If he truly didn't care, then it made _me_ sound hypocritical.

But, he didn't seem to consider that all. "Two men in love?" he asked, a smirk touching his lips. "I know you think that—just because I'm from the nineteen-forties—I would think it is gross or something. But, if what you say is true, then they're in love. And as long as they're _truly_ in love, well… I see no problems." His piercing blue gaze finds mine, and he smiles.

And suddenly, I can't keep it locked inside my throat any longer. A ridiculous squeal escapes my lips, and—as I blush, because I am _not_ the type who squeals or giggles or claps my hands together in giddy delight—my hands find their way together, coming close to my face as I curl into myself as much as possible. "They're adorable!" I announce loudly, another squeal following. _God,_ what was _happening_ to me?!

He must've thought the same thing, because he looked at me, a question in his eyes. But, then, he's giggling, almost as if he's a girl, and I've joined in with him, unable to hold my excitement in. His hand comes over and lightly punches my shoulder, teasingly, as if to say _you're a very strange person, Nat_. And I'm punching him back, giggling even harder as I bury my head in my arms.

At any moment before this, I probably wouldn't have thought, _I have a friend in Steve_. But, as we sat together on the couch, giggling like we were in high school and weren't superheroes, I _knew_ he was that friend. The one who I could trust with pretty much anything.

And to think, he's practically ancient.


	11. Black and Blue

I was sitting on the line of awake and asleep when I heard JARVIS's cool, British voice fill my bedroom. _Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Stark requests your company in the laboratory in ten minutes. _

Realizing that my voice was muffled by the pillow—I had a tendency to sleep face-down—I grumbled, "Why does he need me _now?_ It's not even…" Pushing up onto my elbows, I glanced at the clock to check and see what time it _actually _was. "JARVIS, it's not even six in the morning."

_He insists you must come, because Doctor Banner will be absent around then, and he wishes to show you something._

Groaning, I flipped over, fumbling for the crutches and knocking one off of my dresser in the process. Cursing under my breath, I finally was able to grab both of them and fit them under my armpits, quickly running my fingers through my hair to try and smooth out the tangles. Deciding I couldn't be any more presentable without Bruce's help—which, if I requested it, would get me in huge trouble with the genius—I got up, struggling to make my way toward the elevator.

It had been a couple of days since I had begun using the crutches, and already my body was growing accustomed to the long sticks. Were they preferable? Definitely not. However, at least I could be mobile. Even though it was a pain, I could at least make my way to the elevator.

It took nearly the full ten minutes to get my way to the lab, instead of five if I had been walking. Talk about frustrating. But, I still managed to get there, and was met by Tony at the door.

Other than the shadows under his eyes, the scientist appeared perky, as if he had just slept to his full capacity. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet enthusiastically, almost as if he'd had a bit too much caffeine. In fact, I'd be willing to be that was the case.

"What's up, sleepy-head?" he asked, beginning to shuffle his feet in a way that looked like it might be a dance for awkward people. His hands immediately found their way to his pockets, burrowing deep inside and making him appear casual.

His attitude was a little strange—well, stranger than normal—so I raised an eyebrow and studied him, trying to decode in his eyes what he was so _excited_ about. But, even with all my deductive skills that I used sometimes in my S.H.I.E.L.D. work, I still couldn't find the answer. Rolling my eyes as he made a face at me—probably because he noticed I was staring—I stated, "You should be the one telling _me_, with you inviting me here and all."

Nodding submissively, he replied, "Fine, I'll tell you. Better yet, I'll _show_ you." He entered a passcode before the doors slid open, staying that way long enough for me to get through before sliding shut again.

The lab was most certainly a foreign place to me. My eyes traveling over all of the various machines and Iron Man models and chemistry items, I was overwhelmed by the gray and red and technological look. Just as my eyes were beginning to quit scanning the location, I jumped as an intense beat filled the room, replacing the silence with AC/DC or Black Sabbath or some intense band that I had no interest in listening to. My moment of being startled made me sway for a moment, but Tony reached out his hand and helped keep me level.

"Here, back through that doorway," he instructed loudly, pointing towards a door that I wouldn't have noticed without him drawing my attention to it. Getting really curious about what this was all about, I followed him slowly, entering through the opening into what looked like a gym. It was painted black and a cool blue, which impressed me.

Turning to study my expression, he shouted, "Do you think you might use this?"

"For what?" I practically yelled, not entirely paying attention as my eyes scanned the room. Were those robots in the corner?

"To learn to fight on crutches."

I nearly toppled over as soon as my mind registered what he had just said. "Wh-what?!" I sputtered, flipping my head to stare at him like he was a psychopath. Instead of backing off, he just kept his eyes level, his expression neutral. JARVIS must've turned the music down, because the room went quiet.

"A couple of my robots helped build you some. Their names are Aloysius, Barrymore, and Godfrey. I tried to get some cool butler names, but the coolest is already taken by JARVIS, so these were the next best ones. They're trained to help you learn to fight on crutches, but are programmed to not harm you, whether on purpose or by accident."

My expressions verged on incredulous as I asked, "Do you _seriously_ think I can fight in this condition?"

"If I remember correctly," he retorted, "you managed to kick me in the gut on your second day on crutches."

I blushed, remembering the livid look in Bruce's eyes. "For the record," I tried to argue, "I was aiming for your face, and missed poorly. Does Bruce know about this?"

"Brucey?" he asked, looking at me like I was high or something. "Of _course_ he doesn't know; why do you think I asked you to come when he wouldn't be around? Seriously, Nat, I would think that a spider queen would know all this crap."

I glared at him, thinking that it was a pretty poor pun. Oh well; Tony couldn't always create classics. "You should tell him, you know."

"And why the _hell _would I do that?!"

"Because he cares about you!" I blurted, before I realized that I _probably_ should've asked the doctor for permission before blabbing to his crush that he cared about him.

So much for being a genius; Tony didn't even catch on to what I was saying. "Of course he cares about me. He's my _best friend_. Big Green saved my _life_, Natasha. I can keep secrets from my best friend if I want to."

"Well—" I started to say, but then cut off when I realized that Big Green might come after me if I said anything more. I _definitely_ did not want to be chased by the Hulk while on crutches; I just wouldn't _survive._

Not even responding to the 'well', he just asked, "Do you want it or not? I spent the last week constructing it, and had to sneak around Bruce and Pepper. That's a deadly combination to have against you. I even named it the Black and Blue room, because I felt like you might like those colors. Even though I've never seen you associated with that shade of blue."

I looked around the gym again, taking in everything. I observed the robots—which seemed like they took a lot of effort to build, let alone program—the exercise supplies that were scattered throughout, even the colors of the room. For a moment, I thought of what Bruce would think. Of what could happen while I was training; I could trip and fall, and be completely unable to hide the new injury from Bruce and Steve.

But, my mind traveled to what I missed more than anything in the world. Even while I was exhausted, a shell from the constant pain that I managed to keep from my mind, my whole body itched to fight someone again. To use my complex fighting system to render someone unconscious or dead again. It was a task that—once it was done enough—became almost addictive. My body was having withdrawal from feeling _invincible_, from feeling as if I had _complete control_ over the situation, no matter how it appeared from the outside.

Really, my choice wasn't that difficult.

"I'll take it."


	12. A Silent Conversation

When I saw Clint for the first time after I snapped at him, I was sitting on the balcony where Steve had set me that one time, where we talked about broken things and phoenixes. Even though my back was to the entrance—which was sitting open so Steve could halfway supervise me—I could hear the way his weight shifted, and knew it was him.

Shivering into my coat—it was drawing really close to winter, and Steve kept bringing me warm blankets to keep my bare legs warm, which both annoyed me and touched me—I turned my head so he knew I could feel his presence, giving him a small smile. "Hey," I told him, trying to sound like I always did when we talk, but instead coming off hoarse. _You're just cold_, I tried to convince myself, but I could tell by the way my chest constricted that _that_ wasn't true.

"Hey," he said, sounding the same way as I did as he came to pull one of the patio chairs over to sit next to me. Reaching over to grab my gloved hand, he held it, giving me a strained smile. Things still weren't right between us, and both of us knew that, but refused to bring it up.

"Steve told me you're using crutches now," he said, opting for small talk instead of what was _really_ troubling us. That wasn't like us at all, and I felt my throat go dry in frustration. "He says you're really getting the hang of it."

I nodded, my eyes turning back toward the street, longing to be down there, longing to become one with the sea of faces. With a smirk that almost made me cry, I said, "Yeah. Did he tell you I kicked Tony in the gut when he would give me strawberries?"

Clint snorted, obviously not knowing the story. "That sounds just like you, Nat. Did you surprise him?"

"I surprised Bruce more; he was the one who had to catch me."

And I'm giggling and he's chuckling, and to Steve and Bruce and Tony and whoever else they invited to watch, things between us are mended. Back to normal. But, they can't see the way that tears sting at my eyes and my throat goes tight, and can't know Clint enough to recognize that _this_ is his awkward laugh, the one he uses when he feels like he should be laughing but doesn't want to. We're both so _screwed up_, and nobody else knows.

When we stop, he squeezes my hand, looking at me with eyes that beg, _Can we fix this?_ And my silent reply is, _I don't know_. Neither of us knows if we're repairable or just royally _fucked up_. We don't know, and I feel like crying. _Don't cry, don't break your promise, stay strong_.

He nods slightly, leaning forward to kiss my temple in a way that makes me feel like he's giving up. Instead of saying what I _know_ he wants to say, he ponders, "Do you get why I like being so high up?" And I can't even get my voice to sound a reasonable answer; all I can do is nod, because I _do_ understand.

I see him bend his head just slightly in agreement, and then, he's on his feet, still holding my hand. "Fury's got me going on another mission, so I've got to begin packing. I'll…" But his voice won't let him finish, choking the words and dragging them away from his voice so he can't say them. I can see tears filming over his eyes, and suddenly, he's murmuring, "I'll see you later," and he's gone.

For the first time in the last week or two, I feel broken. I feel shattered beyond repair, and my stomach roils with anger because _we might never be able to fix this_. And I'm overwhelmed with emotions as I realize for the first time _how fucking much_ I want to, and the word _love_ fills my mind and I barely regain control as a sob escapes my throat, but tears don't come.

The tears _can't_ come. I won't let them.


	13. Caught

A _thump_ echoes through the room, followed by another and another. I swing upward, using the crutches to spin me in a circle as my leg kicks Aloysius hard in the chest. He pretends to swing at me in return, but I know he won't hit me; Tony programmed him to advance in difficulty as I get better. Barrymore and Godfrey are lined against the wall, waiting for me to switch Aloysius out with one of them. They reminded me of the high school cafeteria, where students would line up to watch a fight. The only difference is that Barrymore and Godfrey have no choice in where they are standing. Tony programmed them well.

I dodge the swing, balancing on my foot and one crutch as I hit him in the head with as much force as the crutch can give me. Feeling a little guilty as the head begins to cave in—Tony will have to repair him _again_, even though I insist that I don't care how my personal robots look—I use the opportunity of its hesitation to also hit him in the side, this time not even leaving a dent. Maybe Tony just needed to repair the head.

Aloysius begins approaching me, preparing to swing at me, and I'm fumbling backwards on my crutches as fast as I can, trying to get distance between us. Once I'm satisfied, I try the move I did to Tony, aiming for his head. This time, I reach the neck, but the crutches slip out from behind me, flinging me downwards. I hit the floor with an _oof_, and Aloysius immediately freezes where he is.

"Barrymore!" I croak, turning over and wincing at the pain in my side. Thankfully, I'd trained myself to get my air into the air as high as possible when falling, so it didn't even touch the ground. Unfortunately, I hadn't learned how to get up from the ground with crutches yet, so I still needed help. "Could you get me on my feet? Godfrey, could you grab my crutches and hand them to me? Aloysius, go ahead and take a break." The robots stepped into motion, Barrymore grabbing me under the armpits and pulling me to my feet. I take the crutches from Godfrey, and Barrymore doesn't let go until I'm steady.

I give him a grateful smile, even though I know he can't react in return unless I order him to. I kind of wish Tony had allowed for them to be as intelligent as JARVIS, but I didn't want to bother him with setting up the program. It seemed all too difficult for just one thing, let alone three. My robots were perfectly fine.

Only two weeks ago, I had begun using the training room daily to let out tension. It had been that long since Clint had last visited me, and I'd been stressed ever since. Steve could tell, and was only speaking to me whenever I approached him. For that, I was grateful, and repaid him by speaking with him as often as I was in a good mood.

I knew he could tell I was doing _something_ whenever my mood got a sudden boost, but he didn't ask. I didn't want him to, anyways; otherwise, I'd have to explain the training room, and would probably get in trouble with him. _Definitely_ wouldn't want that, since things were going so well between us.

Turning my back to the door, I motioned for Godfrey to move forward. "Your turn, Godfrey!" I announced, and the robot moved from where he had stationed himself immediately after handing over the crutches. I was just beginning to swing at him with my crutches when a voice came from behind me, surprising me into toppling over.

"So _that's_ where you've been disappearing to."

I turned from my stomach to my side so I could look at Bruce and judge his reaction. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossing his chest, as he stared at me, one eyebrow raised at me on the floor. To be honest, he didn't look _that_ mad. Hopefully he wasn't.

"Godfrey, help me up," I say to the robot, who immediately leans over to lift me to my feet. Bruce strides over to grab my crutches, handing them back to me. "How'd you figure out?" I asked, curious to see what had tipped him off. To be honest, there were a _lot_ of things that could have hinted at my pastime.

He shrugged, studying me. "I'm not an idiot," he answered. "I help get you in the bath; I _notice_ when you have new bruises on your body. Maybe you shouldn't fall as often." I felt as though his voice should be hard, angry; instead, it was the same tone he _always_ used when we talked. It didn't even make me feel the least bit ashamed.

"I don't try to," I retorted, keeping eye contact with him. "I've been unable to move around for a _while_."

"I know," he nodded, smiling sympathetically at me. "It's impressive that you're even able to move so fast, let alone do all those… moves," he added, saying _moves_ for lack of a better word.

Breaking eye contact momentarily to glance at the ground, I responded, "Well, I was trained well as a child; I can never _entirely_ lose that." As soon as the words flew from my mouth, I smiled slightly, realizing how true that was. I shouldn't have been so worried about losing my talent, when I was an expert on _training_ myself.

I guess I should've thought of that earlier.

Nodding, Bruce said, "I can tell. You're already getting it."

I nod, and then hesitate. "Are you going to make me give this up?" I ask, desperately hoping that he understands why I love it so much. That it's my only connection to the Black Widow at the moment, and the thought of breaking it made my chest clench. _Please don't_, I mentally begged. _Please understand me_.

I watch as he hesitates, as if to decide what he will answer with. But, it is unnecessary, because I can tell that his answer is already on his lips before he says it. "Although I should _probably_ be telling you to stop, I don't think I can," he informs me, releasing all of the pressure on my chest disappearing. "Even though you've been moodier—which I don't think has anything to do with the training—it seems to be beneficial to you. So I _guess_ I can let you continue."

If it hadn't been for the crutches, I would've tackled him with a hug.

"What about Tony?"

"Well…" he began, and I know that Tony's going to be talked to.

"Don't get too mad at him," I beg. "Please don't. He was just trying to help me."

Bruce holds up his hand, stopping my mouth before it move any longer. "Calm down, Natasha," he said. "I'm not going to go _yell_ at Tony. Yes, I'm going to _talk_ to him, but I'm not going to go off on him."

"Good," I breathe. Closing my eyes, I nod and repeat it, "Good."

Beginning to turn away, he says, "I'll see you later, Natasha. Finish up whatever you were doing."

"Okay," I answer. Watching as he leaves, I wait until the doors close before I lean all of my weight against one of the crutches, exhaling heavily.

_How did I survive that?_


	14. The Sole Witness to a Private Moment

It didn't take long for me to finish up; mainly, I just had to clean up my robots the best I could. And yet, it felt like it only took five minutes. Probably because my mental voice was belting out, _Bruce said I can still train! Bruce said I can still train!_

When I finally left the training room, a grin was fixed on my face as I gave my robots a little farewell wave. They didn't respond—no surprise there—but I was too overwhelmingly happy to care. At _all_. I left humming, weaving my way through the empty lab.

Wait.

The lab was _empty?_

My teeth immediately chewing on my bottom lip, I glanced around, making sure I _hadn't_ missed Tony. Tony should be here, so why _wasn't_ he?

Oh, of course. Bruce was probably talking to him. And out of the way, so I wouldn't eavesdrop.

Once the word _eavesdrop_ entered my mind, I knew that's _exactly_ what I was going to do. I had to know how Bruce was reacting to him, how badly it was going to spoil the beautiful thing that was just beginning between them. I didn't want it to be some unknown factor for me, so quickly, I began striding out to begin my search.

There were only two places they could be _within_ the tower, other than the lab. Bruce's room or Tony's room. Both of which were far enough away from mine to not intersect with any typical paths I would take. Hoping they hadn't decided to take it to Shawarma or something, I quietly made my way over to the location. They _had_ to be there; I _had_ to know.

As soon as I neared the corner, I heard a soft voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Bruce's. I immediately slowed, taking my time. It would be best _not_ to alert them of my presence. As I wedged myself against the corner, I heard Bruce say, "I can't believe you did that, Tony." His voice sounded overwhelmed with every kind of exhaustion that could ever exist, but he didn't sound _unhappy_. Which was strange, because Bruce typically revealed his emotions Tony, even if he didn't want to. A sign of _how much_ Tony meant to him.

Tony's reply was full of humor, full of the sound of someone about to start chuckling. "I had to. I know how I would've felt if I couldn't be Iron Man; the thought was… awful. And she couldn't be—"

"Tony," Bruce's voice said, and it sounded so… I didn't even know. Intense, maybe, as if saying his name was the most _important_, most _powerful_, most _beautiful_ thing in the world. Taking a risk to peek around the corner, I saw that Bruce had taken Tony's hand, and Tony was staring at it with an _oh my god oh my fucking god what is happening_ expression. I watched as the doctor took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, before letting the words tumble from his lips. "That's the most beautiful thing you've ever said."

And then, I could almost define the tone that Bruce held. It was love, it was all of his emotions spilling forward into his tone, telling Tony _I've loved you, I've always loved you_. And the expression on Tony's face revealed the same.

It was a private moment, one that I shouldn't have invaded—at least, that's what a little voice in my head kept telling me—but I couldn't bring myself to care. I was a witness to their love, and I had to grip my crutches as tightly as I possible to not start squealing.

Even more so when they leaned in to kiss each other.

It was a brief kiss, one that was way more tender and sweet than I thought Tony was capable of. I knew he was trying to tell Bruce how he felt through it, even as he released the kiss but wouldn't move his head away.

"H-how long?" Bruce breathed.

"Since I watched the video footage of you. You?"

"Since you first didn't shy away from me."

And then they were kissing again, and I had to back away; I had to get out of there, before I started weeping with joy. Slowly, silently, I padded my way out of the room, a grin unable to leave my face.


	15. Unworthy

My mind was empty, my body was moving on instinct. _Left, right, duck, swing, duck, right, swing_. It was an endless, patternless cycle that I was undergoing, entirely subconscious. Whenever Barrymore took a swing at me, my assassin instincts took over, causing me to react in whatever way would either cause harm or protect me. If it wasn't for the crutches, I could almost believe that I was me again. I was fighting, and I was doing well at it. Hell, I was doing _excellently,_ especially considering the crutch factor.

Perhaps that's why I didn't hear the door slide open. Perhaps that was why I was so surprised when Clint's voice called out my name. Perhaps that's even why I fell. All I know was the cycle broke, and I was suddenly on the ground, pain shooting through my broken leg.

"Oh my god, Natasha!" Clint's voice cried out, but it sounded oddly far away, like he was talking on the other side of a wall. I could also feel his footsteps, which felt _way_ too loud, making my head ache in protest to the sound.

All I could feel was _pain, pain, pain_. And then, there was a hand.

The contact broke the trance, and I was screaming at him in an instant, before my mind could even comprehend what was happening. "_Get the fuck away from me!_" I snarled, pulling myself backwards to keep away from his touch. "_I don't want you to touch me!_"

Clint froze, in the process of reaching out to help me up. "But, Natasha-"

"_Just leave!_" I bellowed, tears beginning to spill from my eyelids against my will. I guess I was too angry to even attempt holding them back, because they came, and _hard_.

I saw the hesitation in his eyes, in his arms and in his legs. I could read him well, _so well_, and that realization reminded me of the word that had filled my mind last time I had seen him. A four-lettered word, one that most certainly picked a _bad_ time to reenter my immediate thoughts.

I loved him. I _had_ to love him; there's no way I could know someone that well without having _some_ feelings for him. If all of my previous exclamations about love being childish were true, then I was an _infant_.

I could hardly breathe once it hit me, its force knocking all of the wind out of me. It shouldn't have been so shocking—it had been there all the time, my senses had just been dulled until it couldn't recognize it—but it was world-changing, at least for me.

And here I was, screaming at him, demanding he leave me and never touch me again.

I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop and tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and did not mean to scream, that the pain was messing with my mind. But, by the time love had finished unveiling itself, unwrapping itself of all of its disguises, Clint was already leaving, the doors sliding shut behind him. Even as I called out for him, my voice trembling in a way that was reserved solely for adoration, he didn't come back, leaving me a sobbing mess.

The pain that his leaving created was so much sharper than the one in my leg, and I could no longer pretend that holding back tears was the answer.

Bruce and Tony would find me five minutes later—after JARVIS alerted them—and would clean me up, pick up the broken Black Widow from the ground and send her to bed. It was done without a word, and there was only a sorry look that was exchanged between the two geniuses as they pulled the blankets to my chin. I knew what it meant: I wouldn't be training in that room until I was freed from my crutches. It was never vocalized, but it didn't have to be said.

It was there, as I lay in bed, the lights no longer shining upon the broken spider that I was, when I realized I had grown soft. I was no longer worthy of being called the Black Widow. I was _definitely _unworthy of love.

I then cried myself to sleep.


	16. My New Psychologist Likes Pop Tarts

When my heavy eyes finally decided to open, it wasn't morning. Pain was shooting through various parts of my body, mostly my leg and my heart. I was broken, so _broken_.

And thirsty. _Very_ thirsty.

I probably shouldn't be moving around, what with the fact that I probably delayed the day I would get my cast off, but I grabbed my crutches regardless. I had pretty much lost everything within fifteen minutes yesterday, so I wasn't going to let a cast cause me to die from dehydration.

Okay, so I was _probably_ being a little melodramatic, but who could blame me?

Slowly making my way to the kitchen—I didn't want to accidentally bump my foot against something—I was surprised to find that the light was on. A sinking feeling beginning to grow in my stomach—oh god, that had better not be Clint—I had to take in a sharp breath before I could even begin to enter the kitchen. Of course, all of my panic would end up being for nothing.

Still, I certainly wouldn't have guessed that the person occupying the kitchen would be Thor with a Pop Tart shoved halfway into his mouth.

"So that's where all of Tony's Pop Tarts have been disappearing to," I remarked, my voice sounding as if I hadn't used it for years. "You've been making midnight snack runs."

He spun around, his eyes as wide as quarters, but he calmed when he saw that I wasn't about to hit him. "Natasha!" he greeted. "You look awful!"

Smiling—Asgardians must've been born blunt—I replied, "Thanks for not trying to avoid the obvious. I appreciate it."

His hand digging into the Pop Tart box—he'd finished the one already in his mouth by the time he had begun talking—he asked, "What happened? I know Jane said you had been improving, but that seems to not be the case."

Curious, I asked, "How does Jane know my condition?" It wasn't any secret how Thor and Jane were communicating; Jane somehow installed a device into Asgard that they could use as a phone of sorts. I was more unsure as to how _Jane_ knew. Jane was still stationed in New Mexico, and wouldn't be moving to Stark Towers until March or April.

Shrugging and shoving a s'mores Pop Tart into his mouth, he told me, "Jane… erm… what's that thing where you use a device to send written messages to another person?"

"Texting?" I asked, amused.

"Yes, 'texting,'" he said, putting emphasis on the two syllables, as if it was foreign to his mouth. Well, I guess it was.

"Jane was texting Pepper, and Pepper told her."

Oh. Duh. They were best buddies.

"But," he said through a mouthful of Pop Tart, "from what Jane was saying, you were considerably better than you appear to be. What has happened?"

I didn't mean to; I genuinely did not mean to open my mouth and tell Thor _everything_ about what had happened since the last time I had seen him, which was the mission. But, I did, and once I started, I couldn't stop. I told him about Tony and Bruce, about how depressed I was when I found out I couldn't fight, about how Tony built me a room to train in and how I wasn't going to be allowed to use it anymore. I even mentioned that I was furious with Clint, so angry that I could barely speak to him, but that I was angrier at myself for blowing up.

"I don't want to _never_ speak to him again," I told Thor, dipping the corner of the Pop Tart in the glass of milk he had helped me get. "I mean, he's been my best friend for years. He saved me from death, kept me alive through all these missions, and I did the same. I even think I lo-"

Freezing, my mouth hanging open like an idiot, I caught myself before I could _fully_ say something I might regret. Even though it was a pretty new discovery, I wasn't about to vocalize it, make it something that was permanent. Nope, not me.

But, Thor caught on before I could quickly change the subject. "Have you told Clint of your romantic intentions before, Natasha?"

It was childish of me, but I blushed like a little school girl. It was _embarrassing_, especially since I typically didn't show this much emotion _ever_. Stuttering over my words, I tried to protest, but Thor wouldn't have it.

"There is no purpose in hiding it any longer, Natasha," Thor said, getting up to find another box to eat from. "It will only lead to further pain. You could achieve happiness if you let him know how you felt, as well as apologized for your behavior."

"But I didn't do anything wrong!" I protested.

Shaking his head in a _you're an idiot_ manner, he countered, "You _did_ do something wrong. As did he. It is the fault of you both, but it can only be fixed if you talk, discuss what has gone wrong and come to a conclusion."

I opened my mouth to try to argue with him, but there was no argument I could make against the god. Sure, there were several I could bring up, but all would lead back to that point: Clint and I needed to talk. _Actually_ talk, not dance around the outside of the problem. I guess it could be said that Thor was the brightest of us all, based solely on this moment.

And then, the spell was broken as Thor held up the box. "Can I take this with me? Loki is just beginning to become fond of this delicacy."

"Sure," I said, smiling sadly. The moment was gone, but I knew it had been dire to reaching a resolution between Clint and I. I would need to find a way to talk to him, and privately. But, I was getting no more help from my new psychologist; he was already walking out toward the balcony, his hammer and the Pop Tart box in either hand. He was gone before I could get up from the chair I had taken at some point during the conversation.

Instead of trying to wave at the sky—and therefore end up looking like an idiot—I made my way over to the cabinet, only to find that Thor had taken the last box of Pop Tarts.

Tony was going to _kill_ me.


	17. Confrontations and Resolutions

I knew Clint was coming before the door could slide open; I could sense it, as an animal might sense their prey. Except, he was not my prey in this situation. I planned for there to be no yelling during this confrontation.

I was in the Black and Blue room, one of the few places that I could expect the two nosy scientists and a nosy captain in denial to not interfere. After promising Bruce that there would be _no_ training during this visit to the room, I got permission to use it as neutral ground between Clint and I. It certainly was a good place to meet, if I must say so myself.

The doors gently _swooshed_ open, revealing my archer. Immediately, my heart broke its rhythm, and I surprisingly had to fight back a smile. I was just _so _relieved to see him. I actually had to _remind_ myself that he wasn't happy with me.

So, in a voice that I had to fight to keep monotone, I said, "Clint."

"Natasha," he replied, taking a seat on the far side of the room, so I couldn't reach him so easily. Taking in a deep breath, he asked, "What do you want, Nat? Last time, you made it pretty clear that you never wanted to speak to me again."

Oh dear. I could hear the anger in his voice, in the way he kept his words as short and choppy as possible. This wasn't going to be easy.

"I-I wanted to apologize," I began, gripping the bench tightly. "I was… pain made me a little delusional, and I don't know why I snapped. I-"

"When did we start lying to each other?" Clint blurted, cutting me off. "You and I _both_ know pain isn't making you want nothing to do with me. So what is it, then? Because I sure as hell don't know what is going on. It's as if you're not my Nat anymore."

I closed my eyes, flinching as he spat out his nickname for me, the one that had spread like wildfire amongst the others after the first time he used it. I didn't know what he wanted. It surely was the pain, wasn't it?

But I hadn't been in pain _every_ time I had seen him. I didn't always have the excuse of worsening my leg to blame it on. So what was it?

Turns out it was as plain as day; I just hadn't chosen to consider it as a possibility.

"I was depressed, Clint," I said quietly, keeping my voice as level as I possibly could. "I didn't know how I was going to be _me_ anymore, since my skill, my _independence_, was me. And you just… I don't know. You just babied me, treated me like I wasn't the Black Widow anymore." I couldn't look at his face anymore, so I instead stared at the rubber matted floor, my eyes focusing on a corner in the room, fixating on it.

It was quiet for a good minute, while he mulled over what I had said. Meanwhile, I was beginning to panic, beginning to wonder if he would become angry with me. Finally so uncomfortable that I couldn't stand it anymore, I added, as an afterthought, "I needed someone to remind me that I was strong, not that I had a weakness."

"Natasha," he choked out, his throat sounding as if it was coated in tears. "I never meant to- Oh god, this is my fault." I finally looked over at him, saw that his head was in his hands, his fingers rubbing through his hair in frustration. My heart ached for him, but I chose not to say anything. He could say it himself, if he really wanted to.

And he really did. "Natasha, you have to understand where I was coming from. I was… I care about you, okay? And when you went and broke your leg, well… I panicked. I didn't want…" He stopped for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts up again, before beginning again. "I don't like saying this, without _any_ reason to, but you're my world. Okay? Laugh all you want, you're _my_ world. And I didn't want for you to get hurt, to get worse and then be gone. Do you understand what I'm saying, Nat?"

While an expression of understanding would've been best, I instead blurted, "You're my world too!" Instantly, I slammed my mouth shut, my cheeks flaming. There had been far too much emotion in those four words, too much to give away so soon. Yup, I definitely should've kept my mouth closed.

But, he looked at me, with those eyes that I loved, and we smiled in unison. We'd both reached an agreement; we were each other's world. And, there had been another agreement of a different sort.

Now, in some cliché romance novel, we would've run into each other's arms, celebrating each other's minor confession with our first kiss. Thankfully, that _wasn't_ what happened. Tony and Bruce could _keep_ that moment, thank you very much.

No. Both of us knew, deep down, that it wasn't the time. Wasn't the right moment. We needed to wait it out, make _certain_ that this was what we wanted—although it was pretty obvious at the moment that it was. Wasn't the right place, wasn't the right instigator. It would happen later, in the perfect moment. And, honestly, I was glad to wait.

Otherwise, it would've been spoiled by Tony bursting in.

"Clint, they've found him," he burst out, completely forgetting to say hi to either of us. "Fury wants to see the Avengers _now_."

As Clint ran from the room, I wondered who could possibly have been so _important_. While it wasn't abnormal for Tony to burst in—he hadn't done to me yet, probably thanks to Bruce, but I wouldn't put it past the playboy—it _was_ odd for him to do it on Fury's order. As he said, he didn't like marching to Fury's fife.

It had to be someone important… Someone that Clint would despise…

Oh. My. God.


	18. The Team Assembles

I was late by the time I made it up to Fury's council room, where he made all of his important S.H.I.E.L.D. declarations and discussed things with the Avengers. So late that there were already conversations weaving together, no single person taking over.

But, as soon as I entered the room, all was silent.

"What are you doing here?" Fury demanded, sitting in his big chair in the front of the room and glaring at me with his single eye. "Nobody invited you."

"Tony said you wanted the Avengers," I told him truthfully, refusing to cower as everyone's eyes remained fixed on me. _You've worked under worse conditions_, I reminded myself. _Hold it together, Romanoff_. "I'm an Avenger."

"You just may be," Fury retorted, standing from his chair and beginning to pace in a frantic line, "but you are _injured_. You're not allowed to hear if you're not involved."

Much to my surprise, Clint spoke up from where he sat above everyone else, on his "perch." "Let her join us. She's not weak."

Fury spun around, looking as though he was going to unleash all of his negative emotions on the agent, but Tony decided it was the perfect time for _him_ to speak up. "It's true. She's been kicking my robots' asses for over a month now. She's perfectly capable on the battlefield."

"Tony," Bruce muttered, his voice sounding as if he were _trying_ to be warning, but he was still in that early blissful stage where he couldn't be mad at his partner.

"While you may _say_ that, Stark," Fury spat, his attention drawn from Clint, "she has not been assessed. _I_ have not seen for myself that she actually _can_ hold her ground in a battle. So, I suggest you shut the hell up."

"She's a necessary part of the team," Steve piped up, sounding confident for a polite soldier. "We infiltrated Ping Bai's workshop with her, and she was one of our key players in accomplishing that."

Thor—since when had Thor shown up?—nodded in agreement. "All of them are right. We need her in order to be successful."

Apparently, everyone teaming up against Fury was a _bad_ idea. "Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, will _not_ be going on this mission. However, if the _rest_ of you don't see it through, I will show you out through the Stark Tower doors. Got that?" He stormed out, the diva having finished his performance.

Once again, I was going to have to sit things out. Letting out a sigh, I stared at the floor.

"Sorry," Clint apologized, stepping closer to me, but not close enough to touch. "I thought that might work."

"Are you kidding?" I asked, a chuckle escaping despite the situation being far from funny. "I would've been more surprised if that _had _worked."

"Is it true?" Steve asked. "Bruce told me on the way up here that you have been training to fight on crutches."

I nodded, unsure as to why Steve should be doubting Bruce, but figured that dwelling on it would waste time. "I have. Just… forget about it, okay? I'll be able to fight again, someday. You guys just… go get Ping Bai."

They nodded in unison before they all left me alone in the room with my anger. I was going to be missing out, missing out on taking down the guy who had left me confined to these cursed crutches. That thought was what made me angrier than anything else.

But yet, a little voice in my mind told me that it was probably for the best. It would be in my best interest to stay here, hold fort while the rest of the Avengers saved the world and all that crap.

Boy, was that little voice right.


	19. Far From Broken

I woke up on the couch, all of my body—minus my broken foot—curled up under a blanket, one that I _thought_ was Steve's. There was the soft mumble of the television, which I had been watching before I fell asleep. For a moment, I stared at the screen, trying to figure out what was going on in the television show. But, after a few moments, I gave up, deciding that it wasn't something I would be interested in anyways. That's when I noticed a little feeling of hunger in my stomach.

Grabbing the crutches, I pulled myself to my feet and began working my way toward the kitchen. I was just halfway across the room, almost to the food, when there was a sound behind me.

It was so slight, I don't think anyone except Clint or I could've heard it. It was just the slightest _creak_, but it was enough to force me to spin around, to check behind me.

Nothing was there.

I turned back around, blinking and trying to get rid of my paranoia. _It'll do you no good_, I scolded myself. _You'll only just be unable to sleep_.

But, when I heard it again, immediately behind me, I knew I wasn't imagining things. Instead, my body went into action.

I swung one of the crutches around, it impacting with flesh the moment I turned my head. My eyes took a minute to filter through people I know, and realize that Ping Bai was standing behind me, daggers in hand.

There was no time to waste.

As he raised his hands to try and make contact with my flesh, I swung the other crutch, forcing myself to spin entirely and put all of my force on the first crutch. It impacted with his shoulder, and he caught it, holding tight to it. But, the moment he had a good grip on it, I sent my good foot forward, impacting with his knee and causing him to crumble over.

He took the opportunity to make his first blow, a slight gash to my thigh. Gritting my teeth so I could ignore it, I did a flip over him—definitely something I _hadn't_ practiced with my robots—and surprisingly landed, but just barely. My little stumble was enough of an opening for him to stagger to his feet, and begin coming at me again.

We met once more, me swinging my whole body around on one crutch, him holding his hands up to block my move. He thrust down my foot, hard, but he wasn't expecting for me to slam the free crutch into his foot as I landed, an opportunity for me to whack him in the head with the other.

The impact made him spin, but he managed to land a fist on my face. I wasn't quite sure if it was an accident or on purpose, but either way, it _hurt_. My anger fueled, I decided to attempt yet another move that I had not practiced before. Flinging myself forward, I looped my leg around his neck, twisting myself and using the crutches to spring myself off of him, my heal impacting with his face as I left, my entire body twirling through the air and barely landing.

It didn't stun him as much as I had hoped—although it probably looked badass. Instead, he lurched toward me, and—even though I kicked backwards at him, balancing solely on my crutches—he caught my foot, using it to spin me from my balance. As I spun, spun around in circles, the crutches flew from my hands in opposite directions.

My first instinct after I landed—well, after my body chanted _pain pain pain pain pain_—was to scramble across the carpeted floor, my hand grasping for the closest crutch. But, I wouldn't reach it before Ping Bai grabbed me, flipping me over and dragging me under him. I got pretty damn close, but _not quite enough_.

"Look at you, you pretty little thing," he taunted as he used his limbs to pin me down. "S.H.I.E.L.D. must _really_ be hurting to employ someone such as you as an agent."

"Get off me," I growled, struggling to get out, but I made absolutely no progress. I was stuck, stuck with a man on top of me and a knife to my throat. I was doomed. But, I most certainly wasn't going down without a fight.

Laughing in the most horrid laugh I had ever heard, he remarked, "I remember you, from that day your little _team_ invaded my workshop." He spat out the word 'team', as if it were poison in his mouth. "You were so _strong_, but now look at you. You're _broken_ now, with no help and no chance of survival. It's such a shame; you were actually doing a good job fighting me."

Tears stung at my eyelids, but I didn't let them fall. No, he wasn't going to see my weakness, wasn't going to see how much defeat was hurting me. I wished I could do something, wished there was some secret way of getting him off of me. But there was none. All of my limbs were…

All of my limbs but my _broken leg _were pinned down. My broken leg was under him, directly under an obvious weak spot. It would hurt to do this, hurt my leg _really_ bad, but I had no choice. Spitting out my words, I snarled, "I'm _far_ from broken, asshole." And then, I sent my broken foot sailing up and into his crotch.

It was just enough; just enough for me to roll out from under his arms, enough for me to scramble across the floor and grab that crutch in my hands. _Just enough_ to swing it backwards, impacting it with his head, giving me enough of a chance to swing again, and again, and again, until he wasn't moving anymore.

He was down. Even as I was breathing heavily, that thought felt so _weird_. I had taken down a trained assassin, an assassin that we had been hunting for _months_, and I was on crutches. It didn't feel like that could've happened.

But it had.

"JARVIS?" I asked into the empty room.

_Tony is on his way_, he said in his soothing British accent. _He didn't tell any of the others; they're all unaware of what happened. He will fill them in when they return. I will update him on your status. I will also have one of Tony's robots bring you something for tying Ping Bai up_.

"Thank you," I breathed, slumping in relief. Now, I just had to wait, and ignore the pain that was beginning to blossom across my body.

It would only take Tony about five minutes to reach me, since he had already been flying toward me the moment JARVIS saw that Ping Bai was attacking me. He didn't even bother trying to find a door; he shot at the windows, glass shattering everywhere as he flew in. "Natasha, where are- Oh, look at you."

"Shut up," I grumbled, sitting on top of a tied up Ping Bai. "Just get this guy to Fury."

"It seems like he's not going anywhere," Tony observed, looking at me instead of the assassin. "I'll take care of you first, if you don't mind."

"Do the others know yet?" I asked, not at all minding it when he picked me up into his cold, metal arms. "I mean, did you alert them?"

"Not yet," he said, beginning to carry me toward my bedroom. "They will know when they get back. Don't worry about it. I did send Steve a message that everything was under control here, and that they needed to finish up there, but I didn't tell him _what_ happened."

"Good," I breathed, my mind bringing up Clint's face. I didn't want him to be worried, not anymore. "Good."

He set me down as gently as Iron Man could, and pulled the blankets up around me. "You'd better get some sleep now, Nat," he said, his voice sounding gentle, as a father's might. "You're going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when you wake up. But, I'll get Bruce working on you. Here, let me grab you a wet cloth for your face."

"My face…?" I began asking, but then I felt the sharp pain against my cheek, and—when I put my hand to it—there was blood. I must've gotten cut by one of Ping Bai's daggers when I got out of his grip, but didn't feel it because of adrenaline. Yes, Tony definitely needed to get me _something_ for my face.

When he returned, he placed the cloth to my face. "Just lay on top of it, and you'll be fine for the time being. Steve just alerted me that they were finishing up, and would be here soon. Okay?"

"Okay," I nodded, suddenly getting really sleepy. "Thank you."

"Oh, and Nat?"

"Yeah?" I asked, looking up at him curiously.

Smirking in his Tony Stark way, he added, "You kicked some serious ass today, and JARVIS has it all on video. It'll be on Fury's desk once I bring Ping Bai to him, okay?"

I grinned, touched by the fact that the AI was willing to do that for me without Tony's command. "Thank you," I told him.

"Sleep well, kickass spider," he murmured, kissing me on the temple before leaving me to turn in the assassin.

Still smiling, I shifted myself until I was as comfortable as possible before allowing sleep to settle in.


	20. Whole

When I finally woke up, the pain too much to keep sleeping, I was mildly surprised to find out that Bruce and Tony were making out in the corner of my room, and were being _pretty loud_ about it. Tony had his hands tangled in Bruce's hair, holding his head as close as possible, and Bruce had his arms around Tony's waist. It was almost like they were trying to melt into each other, become one person instead of two.

Smiling to myself, because _this_ was an interruption I could deal with, I cleared my throat. Bruce sprang apart from Tony, his face turning the _brightest_ red I've ever seen. The billionaire, however, seemed pretty smug about it, one of his hands shifting down to Bruce's waist.

"How, erm, how are you feeling?" Bruce asked, turning even redder than I thought was possible. "How's the pain?"

Shrugging, still grinning to myself, I said, "On a scale of one to ten, it's about at a fifteen right now."

"Oh… erm, oh dear." Bruce quickly stepped forward, sorting through all of his medical supplies, which had taken up the other side of my bed. "Let me find your, erm, uhh… Tony, do you remember where I set the syringe?"

"Over here," his partner said, thankfully not throwing the object across the room. "Don't overdose her."

"I'll, um, try not to." Bruce was looking like he might pass out from nerves, so I figured he might want some consolation.

Shifting a little bit, I told him, "If it makes you feel any better, I think you guys are perfect for each other."

That was enough to stop his trembling hands, and he gave me a grateful smile. "Thanks Nat," he said, grinning up at Tony. "Reassurance is very, um, helpful."

"Don't overdose her!" Tony reminded him.

A few minutes later, medicine had just been injected into me, and Bruce had cleaned the bandage on my face. I was all set for a couple more hours, and I was grateful for that.

"Hey," Tony said to Bruce, coming over to run his fingers through the doctor's hair, "remember to tell Clint that she's awake. He's wanted to see you since they got back," he told me, smiling.

"Wow," I said, trying to ignore the lightheaded feeling I got when I thought about Clint wanting to see me—or maybe that was just the drugs—"Tony's actually being responsible for once?"

"Apparently so," Bruce teased, his hands coming up to Tony's shoulders. "Don't worry," he told his boyfriend, "I'll go let him know immediately."

"Actually," Tony said, smirking, "I told JARVIS to alert him the moment she showed signs of waking. I just wanted to sound responsible."

As if on cue, Clint burst in the room, his eyes immediately connecting with mine. "You're… you're awake," he breathed, and then his attention turned back to the two scientists. "What are you two… doing?" he asked suspiciously.

Bruce blushed scarlet, and muttered, "Never mind," before practically dragging Tony out by his hand. Tony gave Clint a little wink as he passed by, but he followed directly behind Bruce, a look on his face suggesting that things between him and Bruce were about to get fun.

Shocked, Clint turned to me, his eyes wide as he pointed at the doorframe. "Did you just… did you just see that?"

Amused, I responded, "Well, I've caught them making out twice, so _yes_, I saw that."

He opened his mouth, but decided against talking and closed it. "Never mind," he muttered, coming to sit on the end of my bed. "I won't ask."

"It's cute," I tried arguing, trying to defend them.

"It's mushy and… weird. Remind me to never use anything from their lab ever again, kay?"

I laughed, reaching over and flicking his arm. "It. Is. _Cute_. Deal with it."

"It's not," he countered, but then added, "but it's not such a bad idea."

"What do you mean?" I asked, amused, because there were _so_ many ways that could be taken, on so many different levels. "Thinking about joining them?"

"God, no!" He sounded disgusted, but he was laughing. "No, I was thinking more the dating thing. While I wouldn't have predicted that _they_ would begin dating, it gets me thinking that they have the right idea."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, feeling myself flush only the tiniest bit. _You can remain calm through this_, I scolded myself.

"Oh yeah," he said, smiling, and then he was leaning forward to kiss me. "They've got the _perfect_ idea."

I welcomed his kiss, closing my eyes against it, all of the pain melting away.

And, for the first time, even before I had broken my leg, I felt entirely _whole_.

_The End_


End file.
